


No Identification with Actual Persons, Living or Deceased

by Hypoxia



Series: Red Dahlias [2]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different Mastermind (Dangan Ronpa), Face-Fucking, M/M, Mastermind Saihara Shuichi, Masturbation, Multiple Masterminds, Not Beta Read, Pre-Game Oma Kokichi, Pre-Game Saihara Shuichi, Rough Oral Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Spoilers, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:48:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26576296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hypoxia/pseuds/Hypoxia
Summary: Shuichi Saihara, the one who was called the Ultimate Detective, died one night and no one noticed.Shuichi Saihara, mastermind of the fifty-third iteration of Danganronpa, took his place.The one in which Shuichi draws on the past while contemplating a potential future.A rewrite of A Work of Fiction.
Relationships: Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Series: Red Dahlias [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1033094
Comments: 8
Kudos: 153





	No Identification with Actual Persons, Living or Deceased

**Author's Note:**

> Rewrite of [this.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14773166)

Shuichi Saihara, the one who was called the Ultimate Detective, died one night and no one noticed.

He was washed down the drain alongside the dirt and grime collected after a long day pointing a finger at his classmates. He was drowned by his own insecurity after assuming a role that wasn’t originally meant to be his. His image was blurred away, hidden behind water droplets condensed on a freezing mirror. 

Shuichi Saihara, the Ultimate Detective, was dead.

Shuichi Saihara, mastermind of the fifty-third iteration of Danganronpa, took his place.

However, it could be a lie to say that Shuichi had even existed in the first place. Rather, he was a character cut from a cloth of falsities and stuffed with artificial sugar, just sweet enough to leave an uncomfortable aftertaste. But then again, it’s not like anyone would notice an aftertaste if they never stopped devouring it, fully delving in before they even had a chance to wonder what makes it so sickly saccharine. Who wouldn’t trust a doe-eyed boy with a soft voice and an even softer disposition?

Kaede certainly had, and it was a damned shame that things ended up the way that they did. In a shocking twist of events, he actually ended up liking the beautiful blonde in the same way that a fire loves tinder, or that fog loves rain. 

He wouldn’t forgive Tsumugi for her little fuck up. 

Really, the only good thing to come out of Kaede’s execution was the ability to witness the sunshine leave her eyes as the hope was choked from her throat. There was just something so inherently human about her actions as she struggled against the collar of fate, dragging her to her death like a dog. It had made Shuichi want to reach out and try to grab her again, grasp onto the visceral feeling of being choked lifeless. 

The thought alone was enough to make his heart pound in his chest. 

But as entertaining as it was to see his dreamed up executions come to life, it still put a bit of a damper on his plans. He’d worked too long and too hard to turn himself into a love interest, not a protagonist. He would have to recraft his character from the ground up in an effort to live up to the ideals that Kaede left behind, and that was a baton he wasn’t exactly thrilled or prepared to accept. He swore he would beat Tsumugi with it the second he got the chance.

So, yes. He was a little upset about the current situation at hand.

But the second trial had gone off without a hitch and honestly, that was more than he expected. So far, he’d say he was doing semi-alright. Almost all of the characters he’d personally written were acting just according to plan with only minor deviations in when they went to bed, or what they chose to eat for dinner. After all, he had spent so many hours in one of the Danganronpa writing staff lounges with nothing but a crummy laptop and a yellowing copy of the original Danganronpa manga to keep him company. He knew every trope, every character, every white lie present in the story like the back of his hand.

_"No one would expect the love interest to be the mastermind!”_

His own words replayed in the back of his mind. 

God, he knew he was obsessing over this, but he was just so bitter. He remembered hating her upon seeing her original interview. He worked hard to turn the original, generic Kaede Akamatsu into an actual compelling protagonist. And just like that, she was gone and all of his efforts washed down the drain.

But hey, at least some of his creations were still working towards spicing the story a little bit. Kirumi had fulfilled her purpose, the good of the people taking precedence over the good of her so-called friends. Maki’s lies had caused yet another ripple of conflict in the already unstable group of classmates, while Kaito’s good nature would eventually help bring them back together. That is, before they’ll inevitably be ripped apart by the force of dishonesty once more. It was bound to happen eventually; it was all written in the script outline. 

But while the rest were playing their roles like good little boys and girls, there was still one enigma amongst Shuichi’s work.

Shuichi had designed the Ultimate Supreme Leader as a foil to the Ultimate Detective. Shuichi knew Kokichi Ouma, the real Kokichi Ouma, better than anyone on the godforsaken planet, and he knew that making the shy, painfully honest boy into a filthy-mouthed liar would plunge him into the moral struggle of the century. 

But here, in the middle of the game, his actions didn’t make sense. This Kokichi Ouma was supposed to sow the seeds of discourse for the sake of personal amusement, a twisted, hedonistic past time borne solely from a desire to relieve boredom. Nothing more, nothing less.

However, this Kokichi Ouma, the one trapped in an unfortunate killing game, worked so hard to upend Shuichi’s plans when he thought the other had turned his back for only a moment. He would scribble unintelligible ramblings late into the night, disappear for hours on end, and poke fun at the group as a whole to find out what exactly made them tick. And yet, Shuichi didn’t see him so much as a thorn in his side, but instead as a flower bud that began to bloom at the wrong place, at the wrong time. 

In other words, Kokichi Ouma was someone who sparked Shuichi’s interest. 

It kinda sucked that it just had to be like this. Had he met this boy -- or rather, this version of the boy -- on the outside, maybe he would’ve taken a chance while playing along with his dangerous schemes, dipping his toes into something that can only be called indescribable in its absurdity.

In all honesty, Shuichi found Kokichi’s attempts at planning to beat the game rather endearing. But once the lights were off and the doors shut, the true personality of the Ultimate Supreme Leader came out, and there was nothing more entertaining than watching Kokichi’s loud, boisterous personality crumble behind closed walls. No amount of muffling underneath fluffy bed comforters could hide the hiccups that rose from his chest or sobs torn from his mouth.

Of course, Shuichi also knew the so-called _real_ Kokichi Ouma. How could he have not stolen the chance to interact with the boy after he’d first laid his eyes that painfully honest mouth, bitten red from anxiety and slick with saliva? Shuichi had probably fallen for him the minute he saw the boy, his eyes puffy from tears and mouth set into a small frown. His perfect boy, so cute and so sweet. 

Ah, but that’s a separate story.

After stepping out of the shower without bothering to throw more than a towel on, Shuichi had dropped himself onto his bed and pulled out his laptop, pulling up the camera feeds rolling in footage from the Nanokumas. A light giggle couldn’t help but escape his lips as he pushed freshly washed hair away from his eyes, droplets of water clinging to the back of his neck. 

There in the center of the monitor, looking almost as perfect as ever, was a gently sleeping Kokichi Ouma. Shuichi was far too taken with the boy to acknowledge the fact that he was totally shirking work just to stare at his unconscious figure, but it didn’t really matter. Shuichi knew that no student would bother sneaking out tonight.

He’d written them, after all.

With that excuse, Shuichi allowed himself to get lost in the gentle rhythm of the rise and fall of Kokichi’s chest, his figure no longer getting wracked by choked sobs. Gentle curls framed his face in layers of violet, and even through the grainy image projected through the screen, Shuichi could see the soft flutter of ink-spun eyelashes as the other dreamt, eyebrows furrowing at whatever image his sleeping mind had conjured up. He looked so warm, so comfortable. The image was enough to take Shuichi back to the world of dearly held memories. 

Memories that felt like they had been made lifetimes ago.

Shuichi supposed that in a way, it really had been lifetimes. The actual Kokichi Ouma survived only in his head and the several images and videos that Shuichi kept to remind himself just how drastically different the boy had become. It filled him with a twisted sort of possessive pride.

Kokichi was probably the same at his core. Shuichi had to acknowledge that. There are some habits people can’t break, and you can never really hold a crybaby back from his tears, now can you? But this version, the Killing Game version, was just so much more alluring. There was an added layer of deceit, of mystery to unravel behind those glossy purple eyes. 

This Kokichi was different from the boy who would whine whenever Shuichi kissed him too gently and would practically beg for something more, if not with his mouth then with the rest of his body. Instead of speaking his mind, this Kokichi let so little slip, and whatever did come out was rarely something of honest value. What he refused to let pass through plush lips, he’d only accidentally say with his body language to the person he didn’t realize could read him like an open book. Shuichi’s eyes continued to trace the image of the sleeping boy lighting up his room. 

He’d seen every part, every scratched up side, of this boy before.

He’d give anything to be able to unravel this version of him once more. 

Sadly, this was an impossibility at the moment so Shuichi was left to rely solely on his memories and his own imagination. He couldn’t even deny the fact that watching Kokichi unconscious and sleep heavy was enough to make the rush of arousal overtake all of his rational thought.

He was reminded of hot summer nights, a broken air conditioning unit, floor boards that creaked whenever you pressed on them with your heels. There were half melted popsicles that dripped down onto already-stained t-shirts, and stolen beer cans that left water rings on ancient wood furniture. There were sprinkles of laughter muffled by an unwashed comforter, tear stains seeping into the fabric of an overstuffed pillow, and moans that got caught in a throat newly dyed purple and red.

Without entirely taking his eyes off of the monitor, Shuichi gently slid his laptop over to the side and leaned back onto his pillows, relishing the way the cool fabric felt on his exposed back. The sensation was nearly icy against his feverish skin. He untied the towel that he’d been wearing when he got out of the shower and tossed it somewhere off to the side -- he’d deal with it when he had less pressing matters. Gently, nimble fingers found their way around his growing erection. Shuichi didn’t want to get ahead of himself before his fun had really begun.

He started off soft and slow, grip no tighter than a loose fist, and as he brushed his fingers over his cockhead in passing, he briefly wondered:

What would Kokichi do if he had me like this?

Of course he knew the answer to that question with the actual Kokichi. He’d experienced the boy straddling him more than a few times, his small hands wrapping around his length and constantly asking,

_“Am I doing good?”_

Always so gentle, his hands gliding to meet every single one of Shuichi’s sweet spots. Everything about actions, his movements, was always perfect.

But no, not this Kokichi. This Kokichi, the Killing Game version, wouldn’t be as shy. His appeal would come from his confidence, even if deep down, he was just as hungry for approval and praise as his real life counterpart. This one wouldn’t ask if he was doing a satisfactory job. He would tease and tear at every inch of Shuichi’s body, already knowing the answer to any unasked questions.

_“I bet you’re just nothing more than a desperate whore who likes to pretend you’re capable of something more, aren’t you, Shuichi?”_

This Kokichi would smile cruelly while on his knees, his syrupy smile dripping with poison. He’d run a finger up Shuichi’s exposed length and revel in the way that the taller boy shivered against him as he dug long fingernails into the milk-white skin of Shuichi’s thigh. He’d press a small, wet kiss to the slit with spit-slicked lips and pull away just as quickly, a strand precome connecting him and Shuichi in the most filthily intimate way. _“Wow, I haven’t even really touched you and you’re already dripping.”_

Shuichi tightened his grip around himself and fisted his length, the newfound friction nearly making him shudder. It took every ounce of strength not to fuck straight into his fist as he glanced at the boy on his monitor, and the way his mouth pouted out as he dreamt. Fuck, he looked so cute like that, almost like he’d gone back to his old self -- the self that would beg Shuichi his for his cock instead of teasing him for it. 

Almost like he was perfect once more.

But that wasn’t the object of Shuichi’s current fantasy.

No, what he wanted to fantasize about was wiping the smirk off the face of this Kokichi Ouma, the one who loved to dance around traditional conceptions of intimacy. He wanted to pound that boy senselessly into the mattress after filling him to the brim, to force the air from his lungs and show him who was truly in charge of that situation. He wanted to wrench away Kokichi’s perceived control and unravel the layers of _this_ version. 

Shuichi gasped, feeling the muscles in his abdomen begin to tense as a familiar feeling settled itself in his tummy.

Even in this fantasy, Shuichi would still play his part of the innocent, wide-eyed detective. This was a work of fiction, after all, and all good fiction needed a script to follow. 

_“Kokichi,”_ he’d gasp, knees knocking back against the side of his bed as he fell onto his bed. One hand would scramble for purchase against the edge of the mattress while the other would tangle itself in a mess of black and purple strands. 

_“Aw, Shuichi! You look kinda cute like that, with your cheeks all red and your eyes funny!”_ With a smile, this Kokichi would press kitten licks to his aching head, smirking at the way that Shuichi would twitch against his tongue. And when this Kokichi would finally open his mouth and swallow his length down, he wouldn’t allow himself to stay for very long, only swallowing once before pulling back. He’d smirk up at Shuichi, voice even when he spoke.

" _If you want to fuck my mouth that badly, know that you’ll have to make it up to me later.”_

He’d look so cute, acting like he had any authority despite the heavy breathing and nervous glances under half-lidded eyes. But then his pink lips would wrap around Shuichi’s cock just enough to make Shuichi tighten his grip on the hand in his hair as he worked the other with skillful ministrations. But before Shuichi could truly lose himself in heady pleasure, Kokichi would pull back once more with a filthy pop and glance up, varying shades of purple meeting gold. _“Just kidding! You really are disgusting -- I don’t think I’d let you touch me anywhere else unless you work for it.”_

“Fuck,” Shuichi hissed as his hand tightened around his length. This breath began to match the tempo of his pounding heartbeat; an incessant pace that he could feel with every pump of blood and pull on the inside of his chest.

“ _Kokichi, you’re gonna make a mess,”_ the detective would breathe out, voice toeing the edge between a gasp and a groan. _“At least actually use your mouth.”_

_"Maybe I will, once you show a little bit of initiative instead of just whining. How about we make a little deal? If I make you cum with just my mouth, then you let me use you as I see fit the next time we play?”_

And those words would be enough to push Shuichi over the edge, finally breaking Kokichi’s control that was nothing if not illusory.

 _“Deal,”_ he would grit out before grabbing the other boy by the hair, forcing him down on his cock and reveling in the way that Kokichi’s nose pressed against coarse hair and his throat spasmed around him. The muffled noise of surprise would be enough to make Shuichi dizzy with pride, his mind drowning in the sensation of Kokichi’s wet heat and stifled groans. 

The other boy’s wet eyes would stare up at him, tears threatening to gather and spill in the same way that saliva rolled down his chin. And when he’d swallow, throat clenching around Shuichi’s length, he’d let his lashes flutter shut, a look of debauched enjoyment crossing over his face. 

And then instead of simply holding his head down as he had been, Shuichi would tug him off to offer a small moment of reprieve to allow him to catch his breath. A flush would crawl all over the other’s face and shoulders, a faint rose backdrop for dusted freckles. And when the heaving became less persistent and the breaths less heavy, Shuichi would bury his fingers into silky violet locks and force his head up, allowing himself to be crushed under the weight of that gaze.

With next to no warning, he would shove himself down the other’s throat once more while holding his head in place, setting a brutal pace as he thrust, the sounds of desperate panting and choked gasps hanging thick in the air, the atmosphere now electric. And as he thrust into Kokichi’s mouth, Shuichi would smile sweetly down at him. _“Look at how much prettier you are on your knees. Always so obedient after someone knocks you down a peg, aren’t you?”_

Kokichi, ever desperate for validation even in this debauched state, would moan in response, sending vibrations right through Shuichi’s spine. 

"Shit,” Shuichi gasped, now fast approaching his climax. His spine arched upward as he dug his heels into the soft fabric of his bedsheets -- sheets that would surely be ruined come morning. But he couldn’t care less about that; not when the boy featured in all of his wildest dreams refused to leave the edges of his mind. Instead, he chose to embrace the way his head became cloudy with fervent desire and his vision swam behind half-closed eyelids.

He continued to think about the what-ifs that would haunt every coming night he spent in this place with the other.

 _"Even when you’re so sloppy,”_ he’d say, moving one thumb to wipe away the filthy mixture of precum and saliva now pooling on Kokichi’s chin, _“you still look so good like this. Wrecked and gorgeous, like you were made for me.”_

And Shuichi honestly didn’t know if this Kokichi would nod desperately as best he could like the other, or if he’d stay silent, soaking up the praises without ever acknowledging them.

Either way, his tears would fall from glassy eyes as he let himself get used for nothing more than pleasure, resigned to the role Shuichi had crafted for him. His unsteady gaze would look up at nothing but Shuichi, irises glazed over in pleasure as he allowed himself to submit.

The fire, the fight, the falsities would finally begin to break down, and Shuichi was ready to drink up every second of it. 

He let himself get lost in imagined bliss, head lolling back into his pillow as his mouth was caught open in a silent scream. He felt more than actually registered the pleasure that shot through his abdomen as he hit the peak of his release, his climax washing over every inch of his body and entangling itself around his lungs and pounding heart. The mess he’d made streaked over his stomach and now heaving chest, cum mixing with a thin sheen of sweat and residual body wash. 

As he struggled to catch his breath, he let his eyes draw away from his own body and onto the sleeping boy on his monitor. 

He’d unravel this version of Kokichi once more, just like he did last time. That, Shuichi swore to himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! This is a total rewrite of my first smut that I wrote a few years ago. Since I'm easing my way back into the Danganronpa fandom, I thought this series was worth another look over. I've kinda reevaluated the direction I want this story to take and I've gotten a few more ideas that I never integrated into that first installment. Also I'm a bit more comfortable writing smut now lmao. So think of this as the true first installment to Red Dahlias.
> 
> [find me on twitter](https://twitter.com/HypoxicDreams)


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